


Episode 36: Alor'nas

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [36]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clan Meso'a, Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Clans, Mandalorian Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 20:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20748347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "Remorse would look good on you, father." ~Ba'atukXotolicue's right takes a backseat to the will of the Clan.





	Episode 36: Alor'nas

Dedel and Xotolicue faced the crowds growing in the courtyard as well as the assembly watching silently from the level below them. The Zabrak took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but heard a wet tearing sound to his left. Something rippled through the warriors and Dedel looked to his peer in time to see him tear the injured tendril from its bloody stump and hurl it into the Ka’kex. The Chibala jumped slightly as the fire hissed violently and began gobbling up the fleshy appendage hungrily, it crackled and gurged with each inch it devoured. Biologically speaking, Dedel knew the move was incredibly painful, as painful as losing a limb, but the Nautolan, still ignoring the blood caking his neck and pauldron, made no indication that the move irked him in any way. The sound of Koucitesh, Barsurl, and Meiri coming back out onto the Pol’xul grabbed his attention for a moment, but then he turned his large, black eye back onto the assembly. His gaze was gripping and cold, his jaw set, and his arms crossed behind his back. His tribesman, well acquainted with his brand of gravitas, clenched their fists and watched him closely for the moment he’d begin to speak. The holo projector, still broadcasting the Toch’akjaw, hummed beside him like an indifferent observer. He glanced over at it, then back at the Chibala still standing where he’d left her. Her face was pale, but she met his gaze and hurried forward, moving the holo so it was in front of him. When she’d narrowed the scope to only show him, she backed out of his way and largely out of view of the assembled warriors.   
Dedel adopted the look of someone who doesn’t want anyone else to know he hadn’t intended for things to go this badly, straightened up to his full height, and elevated his chin importantly. Xotolicue snorted and smirked slightly, cutting through the tension building up below. He let the smirk grow into a calm smile when he addressed the assembly:  
“Mando’ade, be Haria Enad!”   
“Be Haria Enad!” they echoed him, crossing their arms behind their backs.   
“Be Haria Enad, kime tir’ven’coat,” he shouted, shaking his fist. “Naal’nas,” he gestured back to Garuntha and Van’idal, “Ke’partayli’na, Haria’n. Ke’partayli,” he repeated, the smile fading, “Na’til’ka wih, Haria’n.” (“Death will not prevail. We knew them. Remember them, Haria’n. Remember. The grave hungers, Haria’n.”)   
“Ke’alori nas!” someone shouted. (“Lead us!”)   
The warriors began to shuffle and look around for the source of the call, but those who knew her well looked on with pride as their Alor moved out of the shadows falling on the right side of the Toch’akjaw. Xotolicue regarded her with mild surprise; the corner of Dedel’s mouth twitched but he remained where he was. Koucitesh, leaving Barsurl and Meiri where they were, stood at the base of the deus holding her spear in one hand with the other crossed behind her back.   
“Ke’alori nas, ori’vod,” she repeated, ignoring vein protruding slightly from Dedel’s neck.   
“Le, ori’vod,” he said as if choking on the words, “ke’alorir nas.”   
Xotolicue grinned, “Ra tir’tak,” he whispered to the older man. (“You don’t want that.”)   
Dedel said nothing, but Xotolicue could see in his eyes that he’d spoken true. He turned back to Koucitesh.   
“Ori’vod, ke’soah’ta?” he asked. (“Sister, tell me what you mean?”   
She pointed to Garuntha’s body leaking blood on the stones.   
“Ra’kim’et’na,” she said, as if pointing out the obvious should be enough for him. (“You killed her.”)   
In terms of tradition, it was. He had every right to take her title as death of the Alor is a satisfactory reason for replacement. Normally, death by natural causes or ritual contest determines the next Clan Alor if a vote is unneeded or undecided. However, Xotolicue seemed not hesitant, but unwilling to seize what was rightfully his. He again returned to Dedel.   
“Will you support me?” he asked in Basic so they weren’t overheard.   
“I will not stop you,” said Dedel, now adopting a placid expression.   
“Will you be my enemy as well?”  
Dedel shook his head, “You showed strength where I cunning. This is your Clan now.”   
Xotolicue studied him, but Dedel’s face betrayed little. Inside, Xotolicue knew he burned with fury. Koucitesh, however, looked confident. She was smiling up at them, no doubt there was something about Dedel being Alor that didn’t sit right with her. It never had, not that she’d ever voiced it, but Xotolicue was no fool.   
“Chibala,” he called over his shoulder, startling the Mirialan.   
She came forward quickly, “Le, alor?”   
“Tion’mirdi?” (“What do you think?”)   
She looked up at him. “Ta?” (“Me?”)   
“Le.”   
Bemused, she wrung her staff between her hands and thought, “Alor, tir-”  
“Kex’ika,” he put a hand on her shoulder, “Tion’mirdi?”   
The Mirialan’s eyes traveled from Koucitesh to the assembly to Dedel and finally back to Xotolicue.   
“Ta.. Ra’kim’et’na,” she began slowly, “Alor’na, le?” (“I… You killed her. You’re Alor, yes?”)   
He ruffled her hair, “Ra ts’in, kex’ika.” (“You are young, little warrior.”)   
She frowned and smoothed it back into place.   
“Barsurl,” he called next.   
The Trandoshan appeared out of the shadows where Koucitesh had originated from.   
“Leh, ahlor?”   
“Tion’mirdi?”  
“Mmm,” her tongue flicked the back of her teeth, “Ahlor’nah.”   
Koucitesh gave her an appreciative nod as she returned to her sister’s side.   
“Vedraeja?”  
The pearl Nautolan looked up from Van’idal.   
“Le, alor,” she said dutifully, her eyes puffy and red.   
“Tion’mirdi?”  
“Alor’na, ori’vod.”   
“Ba’atuk?”   
Dedel pulled out his holocom and signaled his daughter. The Choxultzalor was projected before them, spear in hand with Kuntz and Kore flanking her.   
“Le alor?” she said, stamping the ground with her staff.   
“Tion’mirdi.”   
She thought for a moment, her eyes darting to her father. He made no movement; she narrowed her eyes at him.   
“Alor’na,” she raised her chin to him.   
“Alor’na,” Kuntz and Kore echoed her.   
“Satisfied,” Dedel hissed under his breath.   
“Not quite,” the Nautolan looked off to his left, “Versh’vet?”  
“Below,” said Koucitesh, “He’s injured.”   
“How?”  
“In her madness,” she explained slowly, “She threw him off.”   
Xotolicue’s jaw tightened. A renewed anger bubbled up in his chest.   
“Then I will wait,” he declared, turning around and marching to the stone chairs beneath the gazebo.   
“You can’t be serious!” Dedel exclaimed, startling the warriors.   
Koucitesh quickly began to explain the situation before another frenzy broke out. Barsurl and Meiri came to her aid, rapidly translating to a few Mak’uux who’d pushed their way towards the front of the crowd. Dedel was livid, pretense out the window, as he chased after his comrade.   
“You are well within your rights, Xoto,” he grabbed the Nautolan’s forearm, “Why must you drag on this fanfare any longer?”  
Xotolicue rounded on him, “Unlike you I am willing to make my intentions clear, or have you forgotten that is our way?”   
“I have never forgotten,” Dedel snarled, “When was I not open with you, with Koucitesh, with-”  
“Tat,” Ba’atuk hissed, startling them both that she was still on the line, “All of this blood is on you and yet the final blow was his. You have no right to challenge him, unless you intend to take it from him.”   
Dedel glared at her, “Ad-”  
“I am the Choxultz’alor now, father,” she reminded him harshly. Even through the holo her eyes still looked as though they were plumes of fire.   
“I have not forgotten, daughter.”   
“Nor have I,” Xotolicue interjected before Dedel could break the holocom in his ever tightening grip.   
Ba’atuk turned to him with interest, “You’ve found yourself in quite the situation, ori’vod.”  
“I have, but I will still wait for Versh’vet to recover. Do you disagree?” he added with a wry smile.   
“No, I do not,” she said, ignoring her father.   
With the situation in her attendant’s hands, Koucitesh chanced a glance back up to the deus just in time for Ba’atuk to end the transmission and Dedel to stuff the device back into his side pouch. He could see he was seething with anger, but it wasn’t long before resignation washed across his features. Xotolicue caught her eye and smiled appreciatively. She gave him a nod before answering a question from a nearby warrior. 

Doaxa wanted to strangle every last Mandalorian for making her wait two days to hear their decision.   
“If I have to look at his smug face again,” she vented to Bergundt.   
The Twi’lek chuckled, continuing to clean her rifle on the stone table between them.   
“Mandalorians don’t make rash decisions.”  
“Yes they do, all the time!” Doaxa exclaimed, thrusting her palms against her face, “That’s all they do. All day long, but no! Not when important decisions have to be made.” she paced back and forth around the deus, ignoring Nina watching both of them with confusion. She’d never learned Basic, never had to, and was a little hurt that she wasn’t in on the conversation. Maybe they’d tell her, maybe they wouldn’t. Doaxa and Bergundt were longtime friends, so the two of them lamenting together was a regular occurence. Figuring whatever it was wasn’t important at the moment, she excused herself to get ready for bed.   
Bergundt sighed and surveyed the darkness descending on the east.   
“It’s getting late,” she said.   
Doaxa nodded, slumping into her padded recliner and removing the large brimmed hat that made up the top of her headdress.   
“Are you going to be alright?” the Twi’lek asked, “Should I stay tonight?”  
“No,” Doaxa lied, “I’m going to take a sleeping aid and have Teos care for the baby.”   
Bergundt raised an eyebrow,” He’s still here? I thought he left for the sanctuary already.”  
The Akjah shook her head, “I get two more days with him.” She tried to keep the mounting grief out of her voice, but the look on Bergundt’s face told her she’d failed.   
“Have you told him? That he’ll be babysitting, that is.”   
“I don’t have to,” she sighed and sat up, smoothing out the folds in her skirt. “He’s always aware. I can’t even tell you the last time we really...spoke.”   
Bergundt cocked her head to the side, “What does that mean?”   
“It means,” she said slowly, “that I still have yet to understand teenagers.”   
She forced a smile that unnerved Bergundt, then she chuckled at her friend’s confusion.   
“I’ll tell him before I go to bed,” she cackled, “If you could only see your face right now.”  
“Yeah,” Bergundt frowned, “I guess it’d be really funny.”


End file.
